I Can't Forget
by The Mouse of Anon
Summary: You asked for it and now here it is: My representation of James Hook. Rated M to be safe, but definitely not something for the kids due to ol' Jamsie acting pirateish in his thoughts. Companion piece to I Remember.


Disclaimer: I don't own Hook, Peter Pan, or anything connected with J.M. Barrie's awesome work, aside from this story and my own little warped ideas about the characters. So if you don't like where my mind decided to take the characters then don't bother reading the fic.

Author's Note: You asked for it and here it is- my interpretation of James Hook. This, if you can't tell, is a companion piece to I Remember, so go read that if you want. There's no specific order they should be read in, so do whatever. WARNING: This fic is rated M (just to be safe) for a very good reason. James is a pirate after all, and let's face it, there are some things he has absolutely no problem referring to that are definitely not suitable for little kids. This also contains some references of _yaoi_, which is male on male action. Nothing heavy duty, but it's there. If you read the fic you'll see my reason as to why. So in short if you proceed past this point and have a conniption fit about it, it's your own damn fault and you shouldn't have read the story. To everyone else read on and please leave a review. Reviews keep my muses happy.

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The hook, the weapon for which I have been named… I once had a hand in place of it of course. Until Peter Pan cut it off that is. My right hand in fact. Now you may think that's all there is to it, that I've always been the cold-hearted pirate the often ridiculous tales paint me to be, but that isn't even half the story. You see I once, was Peter Pan's best friend. You heard me correctly, we were friends. Back then he wasn't Peter Pan. No, it was Peter the Fey, Peter of the Fairies, or Peter Fairy's Child. For me, he was Pete or Anarchist Peter; close friend, confidant, and occasional fling. That was back when _I _was a Lost Boy. Surprising to hear, isn't it? That was when Rufio ruled, when the Lost Boys were disturbingly similar to the pirates, when the worst pirate around was Black Hawk. Of course back then all of the Lost Boys ranged from physically thirteen to 18 or 19. There was no falling out of prams for our lot. Most of us were runaways, or "children" who had been abandoned and left for dead, or in some cases escaped slaves that just couldn't take the mainland any longer. We were no happy lighthearted children. Not even the ones who came to Neverland at a younger age and grew up here. Though not on the mainland, there are plenty of cruelties that pirates back then were more than willing to inflict on children, and since there wasn't much protection or point in banding together there were numerous "wild children" running around alone at any given point in time.

No, it wasn't until we had at least hit physically thirteen that we had proven ourselves more than capable of surviving in Rufio's eyes. Rufio found us, one by one, and because we were in _his_ territory we ended up banded together as the Lost Boys, because once he knew of us we were either with him or we weren't and there was no two ways about it. That's how he roped us all in. Myself, Peregrin, Spark and Ember, and so many others… What about Peter you ask? Why haven't I called him a Lost Boy? Because Peter Pan never was. Peter the Fey was the golden exception, in all matters as far Rufio's band went. Whereas all of us Lost Boys had at least one time where we could swear up and down that we went through hell, he couldn't. Not until he met Rufio anyway. Most of the time when it came to the Lost Boys Rufio was the first one any of us met. Not so for Peter. I was the first Peter met, his best friend, eventual lover, and downfall. Yes, I fucked Peter-buggering-Pan. There was a reason it got to be called "Panning" after all! Then again Peter's old libido is not the issue.

What _is_ the issue is that somehow during the course of events I ended up as a pirate and Peter ended up as "The Pan"; a thorn in the side of Black Hawk and eventually myself. Oh those are the years I miss… No child was he when he attacked, no babe that had fallen out of a pram and was innocent as he now claims. Peter was one thing and one thing only when he first became my enemy- he was an elf with a streak of vengeance a mile wide that was _begging_ to have its thirst slaked in blood. Black Hawk's blood, my blood, pirate blood in general- to him I'm quite certain it didn't matter. He was magnificent, regal and wild in a way that made Rufio's flimsy attempts at seeming all-powerful pale in comparison. Those were the times when I missed my friendship with him most.

All the same, I am getting side-tracked. Call it nostalgia. Beyond time, beyond memory I was (as I have said) once Peter's friend. Rufio of course was an over-controlling fool who would just as soon pin you to a wall and start to have his way with you as beat you black and blue for displeasing him. In that he shared a lot in common with Black Hawk. As for the pedophile bit… Well I never found out personally one way or another in regards to Rufio. Then again I think his tastes ran more toward those in his supposed 'age-range'. To fully explain my decision to become a pirate and turn my back on my friendship with Peter I suppose I shall have to expose my origins. Before I came to Neverland I was a Spanish/English boy from a fairly wealthy family, I no longer know from what year. Of course, as was the way back then, eventually my family (a large one consisting of my parents, myself, and my ten or twelve siblings) fell on hard times.

As a result my parents felt that it would be no hard thing to lose their youngest as it would mean one less mouth to feed, and by selling said child it would guarantee them shelter and protection. Guess which child I was. So I was sent to work in the shipyards, apparently for the rest of my days, doing every little thing that anyone could come up with for me to do. Naturally eventually someone made a particular demand that I was not willing to obey, no matter what the cost. I ran, the rain pouring in torrents that night just as assuredly as blood had trailed from my recently whipped back. Despite slipping and falling several times I refused to stop running, until I slipped and rolled down to the center of a valley that is. I remember little of the tumble I took, except that afterwards I was flat on my back in bloody mess and staring skyward as I tried to catch my breath, the rain seeming to pound that air out of me.

Back then the penalty for a runaway slave was death, something I was not willing to accept yet unless it was under my own terms. I've no idea how long I laid there, just that I had slept a little and that it was still raining when I struggled back onto my feet once I started hearing voices headed my direction. Of course I couldn't have gotten far, not with the gaping hole in my shoulder where (in my tumble) I had impaled it upon a rock. So exhausted, convinced that I was going to die either at the hands of those that were searching for me or quietly under a bush somewhere, I dragged myself over to a nearby pond and submerged myself most of the way aside from my face which I hid under an over-hanging bush. As dark as it was I'm not surprised that they didn't find me, and that they didn't notice my blood in the water.

Any blood I may have left behind in my fall was just as soon as it had been deposited, washed away in the rain. It seemed as though days, weeks, perhaps even years passed before my pursuers left that valley. I slept. Only one thing echoed throughout my mind as I slept, I could not stay in that world, I could not stay on the mainland. I needed somewhere to go that no one could ever reach me again so I would no longer have to suffer. When I awoke it seemed as if my wish had been granted. Gone was the Spanish countryside I was familiar with, gone was the port I had run from, gone was the fool who had demanded from me that which I was not ready to give yet. As you can see my disgust for pedophiles has a personal root, so small surprise that I will not tolerate it in anyone near me.

What was around me rather, was the island that I would come to be familiar with over centuries of time. I was healed, I was cured of all the wounds I had received as the result of my fall. I was convinced I was dead. It took me months and years of just exploring the vast landscape of that single island for me to run into another soul. Never once did I want for food, never once was I left craving for drink, and never once did I think on aging or growing up at all. I was a free person, free to roam as I would, sleep when I willed, do whatever I wished. Those foolish tales would have you think that the main island of Neverland was nothing more than the barest dot on a map; in reality it is _much_ larger. There are areas that I am sure even Peter is unfamiliar with despite all his years. As all things must my free wandering days with no one else about me came to an end the day I met Rufio.

The oldest I could have been in years was thirty, in mind it was a different story. In mind I was probably no more than fourteen or fifteen, as my body clearly showed, a boy just entering his adolescence. Rufio had watched me for several days, gauging my talents and capabilities as I wandered through the island's wilderness to see whether I would be of use to him. He liked what he saw. It didn't take long for him to swoop in and take me off to join the Lost Boys, despite whatever protests I might have had. For twenty years or so I settled in, learning his rules even as I detested them and felt a burning anger and rage toward the tyrant himself. I wanted to kill him. He had ripped from me the freedom which I had so dearly won, and he had no intention of letting me go. In response to my mental desires my body aged to about the mid-point between fifteen and sixteen and there it stayed.

This burning rage sustained me against his attempts to beat me back, to make me submit to his will. Then slowly something unexpected happened, I started making friends with a select few. Around these few my anger would ebb and I started becoming aware of a change that had happened within me that I had been too angry to notice before. I was feeling the first stirrings of a sexual desire for others, a thing which I had previously been convinced I would be eternally void of due to the experience which had sent me running. The only thing I have ever felt the need to thank Rufio for was for educating me in _what_ precisely it was that I wanted. As such I learned to let go of some of my anger, I tried to look at it on the brighter side of things, for at that time he had never demanded anything that would severely put me out of a good mood to obey.

Then Peter came. I first met Peter at a waterfall at least four or five days' walk from the village of the Lost Boys. He was in the river pond, just lazily swimming about when I saw him, and I couldn't help but be fascinated. When he spoke it was with an odd cadence I'd only heard from fairies and a welcoming and amusing personality that seemed to find humor in almost everything. He was so naïve… It didn't take long for us to become friends and soon I was running to and from that spot almost every day just to see him. I won't lie, Peter brought out the best in me in those days. Things were easier for me to deal with, rather than being angry at an order from Rufio I'd laugh it off and go do what he had asked of me in my own way so as to keep myself amused. I would start conversations, I was quicker to smile, and according to some of the others I just seemed to have a glow about me rather than the usual sullen and surly aura they felt about me.

It was only a matter of time before Rufio noticed my tendency to go missing for most of the hours of the day. Understandably he got curious as to what I was up to. So when he followed me and saw Peter, and made of Peter the same demand he had made of all the other Lost Boys I felt that old familiar rage start to boil. How _dare_ he try to rob my friend of his freedom when he already had mine! What neither of us had counted on was Peter, for what would a fey child care about such 'mortal' ideas? I will never forget the flabbergasted look on Rufio's face as Peter told him under no uncertain terms that he had no desire to join Rufio's little band thank you very much, and would Rufio please leave myself and Peter in peace so that we might continue with our previous discussion and friendship uninterrupted?

I don't think I ever laughed that hard before or since, and I think that more than anything else made Rufio particularly prejudiced against Peter from the start. What went on between the two for the two centuries or more that we both were trapped in the Lost Boys can be called little else but a war. Rufio desired within every ounce of his being for the fey boy to submit, and Peter never gave him any satisfaction of the sort, or if he did it was with his eyes sparkling with mischief as he plotted something devious to do to Rufio in return. No matter what rules the foolish would-be tyrant set Peter simply broke them and did what he wanted to, _when_ he wanted to with no regards as to anything else. I suppose at this point it is unsurprising that with such a person to hold on to that I soon mirrored his behavior to a lesser degree.

There was one reason I had for not going to the extremes that Peter did and it was this: for me some of the consequences and punishments were not something I was willing to endure no matter how much I craved to be just as much of a nuisance. I suppose that it was a small representation of my near-constant inner rage that I chose to wear gray clothes in much the same style as Peter's green. Even so, Pete was so defiant that even when Rufio was only tending to his injuries, one of which I clearly recall was due to a sword going through one of the eventual elf's legs, he chose to be problematic. On the incident involving his leg the argument in Rufio's hut could be heard throughout the entire village as the Asiatic leader of the Lost Boys tried to convince him to take off his pants so he could take care of the wound. From the sound of it you would almost think Rufio was trying to jump him, and Peter's yells on that occasion confirmed that personal paranoia of his.

Sometimes it still makes me want to laugh just thinking about it. Rufio may have had rape as a punishment for some, but even he was more practical than that. There were times admittedly when Rufio was decent, and there were other times where I could still quite vividly imagining his dying heart being held in my hand. I never once even voiced the thought to Peter or our closest friend Peregrin. I chose to keep the darker side of myself hidden from him, and in turn he only saw his occasionally sullen but usually cheerful friend Anarchist James. I suppose it was after about thirty years or so of him being there that my relationship with Peter took a slightly different turn.

Up until that point he'd managed to stave off everyone's attentions, always coming up with one excuse or another or just a flat out "No." Believe me, it wasn't out of lack of interest, it was due to his upbringing among fairies. There were some things that were so thoroughly ingrained in him back then that it was like talking to a brick wall whenever anyone tried to tell him different. _They_ of course had a _severe_ problem with the idea of same-sex couplings, blasted little winged insects. I don't think it ever occurred to them in regards to Peter that there _weren't_ any "nice young ladies" around. In those days Lost Boys and Indians _did NOT _mix. What else was he supposed to do? Who else was he supposed to turn his attentions to? A tree stump?

Finally Peter of the Fairies couldn't take it anymore and decided that some of the fairies with their damned rules could take a hike. I don't know precisely what pushed him to it, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with that insane fairy friend of his, Sparking Briar. Either way when the dam broke and he needed satisfaction, Peter turned to me. It was a rather satisfying prospect at the time if I do say so myself. I won't go into details, but I will say this: the red-headed elf was a fast learner and delightfully perfect in all the right ways. I think the fact that I was Peter's first irked Rufio to no end, and it definitely made him more snappish toward me in general, not that I cared. I had the boasting and bragging right that I was Peter the Fey's first and best and that was enough for me.

Peter of course didn't just stick to me during those years. Out of everything we meant to each other we were agreed, we weren't together. We were simply friends with benefits. Despite that, or because of it, Pete never got into a single relationship, choosing instead to settle for instant gratification of certain desires when the need hit him with whomever he felt agreeable toward that happened to be near at the time. As a result Peter's libido became almost legendary among the Lost Boys. Maybe it was in rebellion against the rules the fairies had set when he was growing up, maybe it was because he felt the need to be close to someone for at least a night. Whatever it was Peter ran rampant in many a bed at night. I'm sure that's one tidbit none of those foolish story tellers have ever guessed at.

Eventually Rufio decided enough was enough and he pushed his ideas too far for Peter's piece of mind. So because of Rufio my best friend left, making it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with the black and red-haired tyrant ever again. There was one problem with that. Peter, being who he was, couldn't stay away because of his friends, especially me. By some unknown magic, probably brought on due to his time among the fairies, Peter's canines grew into what can only be called fangs, which gave him a more fearsome countenance when angry. Rufio, being who he was, wouldn't let Peter go and tried to assert his dominance over the red-headed elf even more strongly.

This situation of which I speak, though I never said anything about it at the time, was tearing me up inside. With every wound and scar added to Peter's body I hurt. With every dignity ripped from him one by one my rage boiled just below the surface. I'm not sure whether Rufio gave up or if Peter bullied him back enough to the point where he got him to back off, but I do know that Rufio started becoming nervous and twitchy whenever he heard anything being said in _any_ fey language. The fact that at just a few words Peter could bring a virtual apocalypse down on his head might have had something to do with that. No one knew precisely how Peter learned that control, how he was able to summon up a storm at a few angry words in fey, but it was enough to earn Peter his other name: Pan.

Pan of course is Greek for "All", and there was plenty of speculation as to what that could mean in regards to Peter. All-powerful, all-graceful, all-wild, all-"talented", and "a living representation of all there was" were just a few ideas. Regardless, it didn't stop Peter from coming back even when Rufio let go of the ridiculous idea of integrating him into the Lost Boys. At that point I could contain my anger and tolerate the idiots around me, just so long as my best friend kept visiting. Peter Pan was by that point even more active than he had been before he left Rufio's ideals in the dust, so inevitably it came to be known as "Panning". The joke circulated throughout and he joined in on it freely with those he got along with. As for Rufio, Peter shunned him completely and acted as though he didn't exist. That was one of Peter's greatest mistakes, for in ignoring Rufio he began to underestimate him.

Rufio gave capturing Peter one last shot and made the worst error anyone could have ever made back then. As if the fangs hadn't been a clear enough sign that Peter was a wild creature and wasn't human anymore, his ears became pointed. After what Rufio did it was as if a part of Peter snapped. He made every day a living hell for Rufio, and when he wasn't busy doing that or trying to stay calm by talking to me or staying away from everyone for a while (often for months or years at a time), he was busy "Panning". By that point I suppose he needed whatever comfort he could get. Rufio did irreparable harm to the "naïve and innocent" elf, something which I doubt even now that Peter has ever gotten over.

To me it seemed as though Peter was becoming possessed by the anger that boiled beneath the surface of my mind. Of course my best friend missing from my life a good portion of the time I was also getting pushed to the brink. Peregrin tried desperately to pull be back from losing it, but he only succeeded in annoying me. Finally Rufio pushed _me_ too far, and that was when everything became crystal clear. My life, as you know, was never that blessed; I had gone from one hell to the most perfect of paradises for a few years, only to be plunged into another hell at Rufio's hands. It wouldn't have been so bad if the other Lost Boys and not just Peter tried to help me escape. None of them did. Not even Peregrin, though I now understand that was because of his quieter and more peaceful demeanor. I lost whatever grip on happiness I'd had and I was swept up in a tide of anger and hate more powerful than anything I've felt since.

I left to the pirates on a night when everyone was distracted and stated my terms to Black Hawk. He willingly accepted the guidance I wanted to give to his crew, and within two days I led them on a siege of the village of the Lost Boys. No one survived aside from Rufio, who escaped into the surrounding woods, and Peter, who only retreated after he was the only one left. He was the true hero of that group, the only one worth allowing to live, though I often regret the death of Peregrin. Peter arrived to help, even though he swore off all ties to the Lost Boys and wanted little (if anything) to do with them. He tried to save Peregrin and as many others as possible, but the pirates and I left no room for him to do so. And when he retreated and accepted defeat I laughed. I enjoyed it with everything in me. My vengeance was pure and burning white-hot and I loved it. As you no doubt have guessed, I never went back.

I could have gone back though. I know that if I gave it a century or two Peter might have forgiven me for my fit of insanity. There were times in fact that I would have loved nothing more than to have dropped being a pirate altogether just to go back to being friends with Pete. I didn't though. When Black Hawk fulfilled our deal and made me captain of his second ship with a crew of my own to command I didn't go back. I didn't even consider going back when I betrayed Black Hawk after sounding out and weeding through my crew, ultimately to sink Black Hawk and the various unworthy scum to the bottom of the ocean. I wanted to go back sometimes, when Pan made himself present and chose to make it known what happened when you angered an elf that had some control over the elements courtesy of his emotions and the words he spoke.

Despite all I did in betraying him and the Lost Boys, despite all I did under Black Hawk until I betrayed him, despite _everything_ I did for those many centuries, I knew that if I decided to go back I could. Until we both made the worst mistake we ever could have. Centuries ago Peter and I made a blood-pact, a promise that we would stand by each other even in the worst of times. I cut my right palm open and he did the same to his and we clamped our hands together so the blood mingled and we stayed that way until the blood stopped flowing. As I recall we both had slightly golden colored scars from that, though I have no idea precisely why that would be. All in all that's one day I actually have dreams about quite often. On the occasion of our greatest mutual mistake I kidnapped Princess Tiger Lily, though by now she's actually Chieftain Tiger Lily.

Peter and I of course had our usual fight with one difference. One of us, or perhaps maybe both of us, misjudged the distance of the other's blade, and the end result was that I lost my right hand; my pact-hand. I remember that for a moment everything was silent, not even the oceans, the seagulls, or Tiger Lily made a sound and Peter and I just froze. The wide-eyed look of surprise, fear, concern, and gods know how many other emotions that flashed across Peter's face made be want to be sick. I've never been a person who had to worry about sea-sickness, but in that instance I felt ill in a way that made it blatantly clear to me that there would be no going back for me. Ever. Peter knew it too and both of us just stood there stunned for what felt like an eternity.

When time seemed to re-start itself we had to slide back into our now-permanent roles, Pan and Hook, childish warrior elf and evil pirate. For the sake of keeping up his façade Peter had to play his part, so he threw my hand to the crocodile. Mercifully, or not so mercifully, he made sure it swallowed a clock so that I could hear it coming. Since then it has been war. He can't give up his side in good conscience, and I can't give up mine due to the wounds I suffered at that ultimate betrayal. So we are at a stalemate, a fight to the death if it does not last until the end of time. We play our parts perfectly mind you, and sometimes I think we both find some great hidden amusement in our battles. All the same though, I'm glad Peter's gone celibate. Last thing he needs or I want to be is a jealous pirate.

Owari

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V There's the button, go ahead and push it already. You know you want to!


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